As a Doctor
by Danzinora Switch
Summary: Being doctor means more than just tending to the sick and injured. McCoy could practically write a book on all the OTHER stuff he has to deal with in his line of work, especially in deep space. An ABC fic.
1. Addiction

**A/N: Am I breaking my new rule about waiting to post until a story is finished? Well, I make the rules so I have no clue. Technically this story is going to be more of a collection of one-shots, so each chapter is its own "completed" story. For now. Idk. We'll see if it stays that way. Besides, I've missed posting, I've always wanted to do an ABC story, and maybe this'll give me a kick in the butt to finish that long project. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Addiction**

Since McCoy trusted his head nurse, he believed that somehow, after every Starbase supply transfer, they got shorted on their quota for keflavin. After the first inventory discrepancy, the pair was forced to come to the conclusion that someone had screwed up the shipment, but after the second and third mishaps their theory took on a more sinister shape.

It was at the point that Dr. McCoy decided to oversee the supply haul personally. They loaded everything into Sickbay right away, inventoried carefully, and found that they had the exact amounts of every medication they had requisitioned. The storage facilities of Sickbay were sealed under the codes used only by the doctors on board and Nurse Chapel, and everyone called it a night.

Of course, prone to fitful sleep habits, McCoy found himself lying wide awake in bed at 2 in the morning and, in a strange compulsion, rose and trotted to Sickbay.

The lights were dim, and as there were no patients at the moment the gamma crew shift was particularly skeletal. McCoy encountered no one as he traipsed through his office and the labs. After checking some of the private wards, he passed by the storage units and saw that the sealed door was stopped partially open. His eyebrows rose. Upon closer inspection, the transparent aluminum comprising the window had been shattered. Someone had broken it, reached inside to deactivate the lock, and heaved the sliding door open just enough to squeeze through.

McCoy's initial instinct was to get angry, because the storage facility had delicate temperature controls inside for those medications that required it. However, his gut told him that there was a greater reason behind this vandalism, and he slowly made his way inside.

He stepped quietly through the shelves and containers of Sickbay's inventory and approached a rustling sound at the back. Pausing around the last shelf, McCoy shook his head. He knew where they were. He peeked around to get a look at the culprit.

Orderly Jared Hodgson was rifling through the keflavin. McCoy studied him for a while. Hodgson looked almost panicked, stuffing keflavin into his pockets in such a frenzy that most pill bottles fell on the floor, leaving him to scramble around picking them up. His eyes were wide, his breath quickened, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. McCoy shook his head again.

"We _were_ delayed getting to Starbase 7, weren't we?"

Hodgson whirled to see the doctor leaning against the shelf he had just stepped around. The motion led him to drop some more pill bottles. McCoy raised an eyebrow.

"Everything alright, son?" he asked compassionately.

Hodgson's eyes flickered over the area as if seeking an escape route. McCoy reappraised the situation. If the keflavin started going missing since Starbase 4, and assuming Hodgson was taking them regularly, then…

"I can help you with the detox." McCoy took a step forward.

"No!" Hodgson shouted. He grasped the keflavin firmly. "Just let me out of here."

McCoy frowned. Now that he was properly in front of the orderly he could see his eyes. There was a slight glaze over them. If the man was in withdrawal due to a delay in stealing his next batch then…

 _Why wait, McCoy?_ He could almost smack himself.

"We can leave together," he said. "And I'll help you in Sickbay."

"You'll detox me," Hodgson retorted.

"That is the idea, yes." He took another step forward.

"Stay back!" Hodgson yelled.

"I just want to help you."

"I don't want your help!"

"And you think keflavin can?"

Hodgson actually growled at him. Now that the high was setting in, he took a step forward as well. "Get out of my way, Doctor."

"I can't let you leave with all those pills." McCoy knew he could let the man retreat to his quarters and then simply call Security to seize him and the contraband, but he liked Jared enough that he didn't want to see his career in Starfleet go the way of a dishonorable discharge. Jared just needed help kicking a habit, and McCoy hoped that this could be resolved within Sickbay's internal business.

"I'm not leaving them!" he snarled.

Of course, the orderly McCoy knew was currently shanghaied by an angry drug addict.

"I don't want to call Security," McCoy coaxed. _Yet._ "But if you don't put those down-"

Without warning Hodgson charged him.

 _Brilliant, McCoy,_ he thought as he caught an armful of sweaty paranoia. _You're as forward-thinking as ever_.

He managed to jab Hodgson right in his diaphragm before he got taken to the ground, but the orderly barely noticed. McCoy cursed as he landed. He didn't know how much keflavin he'd taken, but if it was enough he could probably stab Hodgson with a knife and the man wouldn't feel it.

Powered by adrenaline, Hodgson rebounded from the tackle quickly and surged to move past McCoy. The doctor latched on to his ankles and managed to make them both stumble.

"C'mon, Jared!" McCoy said through gritted teeth.

He couldn't hope to hold Hodgson - instantly, the man was a writhing mess of flailing limbs. One blow glanced off of McCoy's jaw, making his teeth click shut.

They grappled for a moment more on the floor until McCoy noticed that he was back between Hodgson and the door. He suddenly broke away from the fight and sprinted towards Sickbay. He could hear Hodgson rushing to his feet close behind him.

McCoy rounded the corner swiftly and dove towards his office. He knew, he KNEW he hadn't unpacked his gear from the last landing party, and…

Hodgson rounded the same corner just as McCoy stepped back out of his office and stunned him.

McCoy dropped his arm holding the phaser as Jared crumpled. He released a long breath as the chase and scuffle caught up to him. Composing himself, he set the phaser down and bent to move Hodgson towards the nearest biobed.

"Seriously, kid," he muttered. "You may have damn near overdosed."

Staying away from hypos (until the sensors could tell him just how much medication was running through the kid's system) McCoy set about tending him, restraining him, and restocking the keflavin. He needed to comm M'Benga… he'd given the gamma shift Doctor the night off since there wasn't much happening, but it was nearing 4 in the morning and Leonard had just remembered that he was supposed to be in bed.

Besides, someone needed to fill out a requisition form to Engineering to get somebody to fix the storage door… and McCoy wasn't going to shake off this incident if he couldn't shake off the paperwork that came with it.


	2. Backstabbing

**A/N: Thank you, everyone, for the reviews so far! Here's chapter 2!**

* * *

 **Backstabbing**

"Bones!"

Jim Kirk caught up to his CMO just outside of Sickbay, carrying a PADD. McCoy halted his stride. "Jim. I'm headed to the mess hall, or is there something official on your mind?"

Kirk waved him off. "Mess is good, in fact I'm on lunch, myself. Bones," he said as they began walking again. "Do you remember that incident with Elaan and the Troyians and all that?"

"Yes…" McCoy suddenly scrutinized him. "Why, are you falling in love again?"

"No, Bones, I'm still perfectly cured. That antidote of yours is actually on my mind, though. I was catching up on some latest reports and found a little notice about the cure for Elasian tears. Only you see, Bones, I was there at the time, as you well know, and I don't remember a 'Blaine Rutherford' being there."

"What are you talking about?" McCoy asked.

Kirk handed him the PADD. He kept an eye out for people in the corridor as the doctor skimmed it.

"Jim, this is the article I wrote on that whole shebang, what's the big deal?"

"Look at the author."

McCoy glanced at the name and realized what Kirk was getting at. "Dr. Blaine Rutherford. Alright. So?"

Kirk's eyebrows shot up. "Bones, aren't you upset? Even a little angry? This man's stealing credit for your work!"

Instead of enraged, McCoy actually looked a little amused (Kirk couldn't tell if it was at his expense or not). "It's not the first time, Captain, nor probably the last."

"How often does this happen?" he asked, aghast.

McCoy shrugged. "More often than you think. The whole scientific community deals with it and medicine is no exception. Certainly not unheard of." He handed the PADD back to Kirk who tucked it under his arm.

They reached the mess hall and waited in line for the food synthesizers. "Well, do you know of someone on Starfleet Medical we can contact?" Kirk pushed. "A higher-up who can correct this?"

McCoy only shook his head at Kirk's words. "I don't want to drag the brass into something so petty. It's actually not that big of a deal."

The doctor was aware that Kirk was having trouble fathoming that. "Look," he explained. "The doctors of caliber in the medical community already know it's me. The article mentions how it was the _Enterprise_ that was on the mission in the Tellun system. Well, I'm CMO of the _Enterprise_. They know it's me. This Rutherford guy's probably just someone in the line of processing research in Starfleet. The only ones who are ever fooled by these stunts are the press and general public, for whom names really aren't that important. The information is true, and life-saving, and they're still getting that, at least." He could see that Kirk still wasn't convinced so he quirked a grin.

"Besides… if they ever ask Rutherford about 'his' research there's no way he'll be able to articulately explain himself. Everything gets straightened out for sure at the medical conferences, to boot."

"I understand," Kirk said at last. They moved to sit down with their food. "I can't believe something like this is so widespread, but if you're not worried about it, then I guess I shouldn't be."

McCoy shrugged. "At this point, there's nothing to be gained by fretting. The damage is done. Now, so you don't think I'm such a pushover I do what I can to head off this kind of behavior. I always mention the _Enterprise_ in my reports. I don't send anything up by Dr. Amtrell's office, that's just begging for plagiarism. I'm careful about who I'm working with-" He broke off, actually looking chagrined.

"I'm usually pretty thick-skinned but then sometimes it'll just get to me. Remember the giant single-celled organism we ran across in space? It's still a treasure-trove of information! What a find! And someone had just taken my name out of my research counteracting the radiation of Gamma Hydra IV with adrenaline and I, well, I got it in my head that if I wasn't on that shuttle then _Spock_ of all people would grab all the credit for himself."

"You know he'd never do that," Kirk said tensely. He didn't like remembering that encounter… he didn't relish the thought of sending one of his friends to die.

"I know," McCoy sighed. "And most of the time I know it, know him. And then sometimes I second-guess him… though I think I'm really second-guessing myself. I try not to be that kind of person, Jim… I don't like people who only care about getting their names on stuff."

"I do have a hard time picturing you running with that crowd," Kirk responded, hoping to encourage his friend.

McCoy smiled a bit at the mental image. "So - are you over getting offended on my behalf?"

"For now," Kirk replied. "But I make no promises if it happens again."

"Fair enough," McCoy conceded. He glanced over Kirk as they ate. "For the record, this is one of the reasons why I make sure all the recommendations for new medical personnel go through _me_. We don't have any Blaine Rutherfords on this ship."

Kirk relaxed, and privately marveled at how quickly McCoy could intuit his own dark thoughts. "Wasn't trying to accuse anybody of that, Bones. Just want to limit this as much as possible."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, the hardworking doctors, nurses, and scientists of the _Enterprise_ are still properly cited for the study of the Denevan parasites, curing the effects of the water of Psi 2000, investigating the spores of Omicron Ceti III, curing xenopolycethemia, and many other cases of scientific and medical interest."

Kirk felt about as satisfied as McCoy looked. The doctor hadn't said it, but though he was proud of his staff Kirk knew McCoy himself was key in most if not all of those 'cases'. "Point taken, Doctor. I'll try not to meddle with the 'complexities' of medical affairs, then."

"Eh, we could use some meddling sometimes." A grin started spreading over McCoy's face. "I should really take you with me to some of the conferences."

"You don't want me dragging you to _more_ diplomatic events, do you, Doctor?" Kirk warned.

McCoy merely pointed his fork at him. "Do not threaten the man in charge of your meal card, Captain!"


	3. Contagious

**A/N: Chapter 3! Sorry it took a little longer. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Contagious**

The general idea of being a doctor in Starfleet tends to involve a mental picture of wielding a hypo and curing plagues and mending broken bones.

While that is more or less true, the unspoken side effects of such duties are less glamorous. For example, there is also the undeniable fact that when dealing with any plague or illness, providing the contagion is communicable across species, the group second to the initial victims to be affected is the medical staff treating them.

In other words, eventually _you_ will get sick.

"Spock, if you say 'illogical' one more time, I'm gonna sneeze on you," McCoy grumbled with an accompanying hacking sound.

"If you are implying that the sneeze is a threat, may I remind you that Vulcans are immune to the Havorian Damp?"

McCoy waved his hand at him as he bent back over the microscopic viewer. " _Implying_ that my threat is illogical still counts as saying 'illogical'."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Then you yourself have just said the word you wish to abstain from. Twice."

McCoy sneezed.

Spock took stock of the doctor as he blew his nose, and decided that, considering the state of the other nurses and staff that had fallen 'under the weather', so to speak, McCoy was holding up reasonably well. He was mildly curious as to how the doctor managed to see through the viewer with his eyes so watery. The Earth idiom _'desperate times call for desperate measures'_ briefly floated through his brain.

The situation wasn't desperate for the _Enterprise_ but it was for the tiny colony on Havor II. What were sniffles and coughs for humans were stomach bleeding and respiratory distress for the colonists. Havorians were familiar with the sickness, however an outbreak on their first off-world colony had quickly spread into a full-blown epidemic, prompting the homeworld to call for Federation aid.

And so now McCoy was in the lab with Spock, hacking and shivering and sneezing, as they looked over fixing a possible mutation in the virus.

Spock glanced at the chronometer and then back at McCoy. "Doctor, if I am not mistaken, it is a full half hour past your scheduled shift. I understand that prolonged activity only exacerbates illnesses in humans."

McCoy spared him a glare from the viewer. "Mr. Spock, you're a scientist, not a doctor."

"Just as you are sick and not well," Spock pointed out.

McCoy sighed in exasperation and leaned back. "Yes, Mr. Spock, but we have 3 nurses down already and a handful of orderlies and volunteers distributing medicine also affected. I've put M'Benga in charge ofSickbay's mass distribution and the _only_ thing I'm working on is investigating this li'l bugger. I can do that much with a runny nose."

"I am aware of the situation, Doctor."

"Then what is your point?!"

"Merely that the last culture you looked at contained the results we were looking for and the current one under your scope is from yesterday's tests."

McCoy did a double-take and looked at his viewer, surprised. Seizing the distraction, Spock reached out and calmly nerve-pinched the worn-out man.

Taking a moment to collect McCoy in a way that was somewhat comfortable, Spock exited the lab and carried the doctor to his office. M'Benga was inside retrieving an item when they entered and looked up at first in concern, then understanding.

"He's not going to be happy," the other doctor quipped.

"He will," Spock replied, lying him down on the cot set up in the corner. "If you will follow me, Dr. M'Benga, we have found the appropriate medications needed to counteract the mutated version of the virus."

The two men left back for the lab… but after taking a moment to dim the lights and leaving tissues and a meal card programmed for chicken soup on the table beside the snoring doctor.


	4. Death (And All His Friends)

**Death (And All His Friends)**

McCoy slammed his hand on the table, making the other medical professionals around him jump. The conference had been dragging on, and dinner was served late, so everyone was already getting a little bit tipsy.

And when certain doctors get a certain amount of alcohol in their system, they tend to bring up certain things.

"We need to talk about death," McCoy announced.

Those who had the fortune (or misfortune) of sitting at this particular table with Dr. McCoy collectively raised their eyebrows.

"Doctor McCoy," Dr. Phineas Garinski began, clearing his throat. He'd been a long-time professor in the medical branch of the Academy, although McCoy had never had him. "Dealing with death is constantly discussed… every medical intern from the beginning has to learn to cope with the loss of-"

"I don't mean _permanently_ ," McCoy interrupted. "We need to talk about the cases when the patients don't stay dead!"

Askance stares greeted McCoy from everyone within earshot… except from Dr. Malone of the USS _Fontana_ , who was nodding his head sagely.

"Doctor," Garinski said, still in shock. "Surely you jest."

"No, I don't!" McCoy stated. He took another swig of his drink before continuing. "Do you know how many cases I've had of crewmen or civilians _dying_ and then getting resurrected immediately afterwards? Do you know how many alien entities can play with life like that?"

"Then perhaps they weren't actually dead to begin with," Dr. Anissa Nduke, stationed planet-side, hedged.

"Nope," Dr. Malone broke in. "My ship encountered an intelligent slime mold a while back and upon initial contact it murdered an engineer. Four days later, after first contact was finally established, it brought her back to life as an apology."

McCoy nodded vigorously. "Exactly! My ship's _Chief Engineer_ was struck down by a mutated space probe before my very eyes… and the darn thing 'repaired' him!" He frowned as another memory struck him. "Come to think, when that same engineer was involved in a murder investigation, the culprit dropped dead in our briefing room, and then suddenly reanimated a couple hours later."

"This is all very hard to take in-" Garinski began.

"We had a geologist beam back dead another time," Malone interrupted. "No pulse, no brain activity… just as we were about to pull the sheet over her she opened her eyes and stood up. No idea what happened."

"Rare instances," Nduke dismissed.

"Except it happens more often than you think," McCoy pointed at her. "That's why we need to talk about it! Our navigator was shot dead on a planet once, then we found him back on the ship fit as a fiddle." McCoy suddenly jerked in his seat and patted over his chest frantically with his hand. "Hell, it's even happened to me!"

"It's happened to my captain a couple of times," Malone observed.

"Speaking of which…" McCoy finally spotted Kirk slinking back from the restroom, taking the longest, slowest route possible. "Jim! Back me up here!"

Unlike the doctors, the captain had not had anything to drink yet because he had been doing his best to escape the conference through a series of bathroom breaks. He should've never let McCoy win that fight about dragging him along.

"What are you talking about?" he asked once he reached their table.

McCoy poked him. "How many times have you died?"

Both of Kirk's eyebrows shot up. "Come again?"

"We're discussing impromptu resurrection. Now, how many times have you _actually_ died? –And I don't mean like the situation with the Romulans… or the incident on Vulcan…" McCoy frowned. "Why do all the occasions I've faked your death involve pointed ears?"

"Does Sargon count?" Kirk offered.

McCoy's eyes widened and he pointed at Kirk, gesturing for the other doctors to see and believe. "You hear that? This man was poisoned, died, and now here he is!" His excitement dropped and he became contemplative. "Of course, your mind wasn't even _in_ your body when it died, so that may actually be more of a gray area."

"Doctors McCoy, Malone," Garinski addressed firmly. "As… interesting as this conversation has been, we will not discuss it here. We are all drinking, not in our right minds, and likely misremembering events."

McCoy moved forward in his chair to engage but Kirk planted a warning hand on his shoulder. The doctor glanced at him, then slouched back in his seat and gave Garinski a ' _bitch, please_ ' glare.

"Trust me," he said. "I know when a man is dead."


	5. Enemy Treatment

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting the next chapter up! School got kind of busy all of a sudden. Thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing so far!**

* * *

 **Enemy Treatment**

McCoy glared at the disruptor pointed at his face. His fingers tightened around the hypo of coagulant he was holding and his mouth pressed into a thin line. The buzz of Sickbay in alert mode faded as people stared at the unfolding scene.

The young Klingon on the biobed glared back at him, only sparing a glance towards his unconscious buddy in the next bed.

McCoy inclined his head towards the deep gash oozing from the Klingon's side. "I can stand here all day. How long do you think you'll be able to hold your arm up?"

The Klingon tightened his grip on the disruptor. It wasn't even supposed to be on him… McCoy would have a word with his staff and Security about disarming his patients.

"I won't let you lay your hands on me!" the warrior growled.

"You're leaking pretty badly," McCoy answered mildly, though with an edge to his voice. He held up the hypo. "This would stop the bleeding."

"I'd rather die than be at the mercy of a Terran!" he spat.

"Then quit wasting my time!" McCoy suddenly snapped at full volume. "I have other patients to treat!" To the shock of everyone in the room, McCoy batted away the disruptor and walked to the bed of the unconscious Klingon.

The first warrior managed to get over his stunned reaction at the audacity of the human. He pointed the disruptor back at the doctor. "Don't touch him!"

McCoy raised an unamused eyebrow. "Listen: I'm going to do everything in my power to save his life. If you stop me, his death is on your hands." Without another word, McCoy returned his attention to his patient.

The sounds of Sickbay slowly and cautiously resumed as the other nurses and doctors continued to tend to the _Enterprise's_ crewmembers injured in the firefight. The young Klingon looked bewildered, still having trouble grasping that he was being ignored. He watched as McCoy called over a nurse and they set about closing his comrade's wounds.

They seemed to be done pretty quickly and suddenly McCoy approached again. "Now… are you ready to let me treat that gash?"

The Klingon tried to threaten him again but realized his arm holding the disruptor had fallen to the bed. When he tried to lift it, it made him very dizzy.

"I will be a tormented prisoner if I let you," he rasped.

McCoy snorted. "Tormented… right."

The Klingon's fingers twitched but could barely even hold onto the weapon. "I cannot accept your help…"

In the background, an orderly muttered, "Just let him go ahead and die…"

The Klingon saw McCoy's eyes suddenly narrow as the doctor stiffened. "Bradley, you're relieved."

"What?" the orderly startled.

"Get out of my Sickbay!" McCoy snapped. "You'll get a formal reprimand once the rest of us are done saving lives!"

The Klingon watched the orderly slink away and suddenly got the strange impression that if the Terran had a tail it would be between his legs. His eyes met McCoy's once more and he saw the full authority the doctor commanded behind them.

"So," McCoy said bluntly. "Are you going to let that idiot get his wish and die on my table, or are you finally gonna drop the bravado and let me heal you?"

The Terran certainly didn't mince words. With little effort, the Klingon opened his weakening fingers and let the disruptor drop to the floor.

"We Klingons know how to pick our battles."


	6. Fear

**A/N: Set after "Operation: Annihilate!" Thank you, everyone, for those wonderful reviews! They keep me going :)**

* * *

 **Fear**

A good amount of psychology was practices on the ship, mostly by people who weren't even qualified. They may not have a degree, but Dr. McCoy reckoned they had plenty of experience considering the number of stressful situations they all ran into. Besides, he knew the curative power of a listening ear and words of encouragement as well as any medicine.

That being said, he himself had put coaxing to good use. Within the normal crew complement, he didn't have many opportunities to practice it, but on occasion a guest or other visitor would come aboard with a host of background issues he would have to learn and adjust to.

This was especially true with Peter Kirk.

McCoy had already prepared himself for the fallout of losing one's parents and large-scale decimation of one's home planet when he approached Peter, but not recent events do not cover everything in someone's psychological makeup.

Since the boy had been unconscious when they purged the Denevan parasites from his body, this was really McCoy's first formal meeting with the boy. Jim had gone ahead and spoken with him about everything that had happened, and McCoy had waited a couple days to give the two of them some time to process before swooping in with his logistical check-up.

"Now, Peter, a standard physical takes about 15 minutes, in and out, and is totally noninvasive. It's to check and see how if there are any lingering effects of those parasites - of which I don't expect to see any - and to get a reading of your general health. That sound okay?"

The boy nodded, but rubbed his shoulders uneasily. McCoy glanced at Kirk, who got the message.

"Everyone on the crew's had a physical done by Dr. McCoy, myself included. It'll be over before you know it."

He seemed to relax.

True to his word, the scans were quick and painless. Jim stayed by his nephew's side the whole time. McCoy examined the readings on a computer terminal.

"He's a little low on certain levels, mostly vitamin D," McCoy murmured to Jim. "I can clear that up with one hypo and he'll be good to go till the next Starbase."

"You're the doctor," Jim replied.

They rose and McCoy fiddled with his hypo. Peter's eyes flashed with fear as he approached.

McCoy held up his hands, one with the hypo, palms out. "Peter, this is a standard supplement. Your vitamin D and a couple other nutritional levels are low. One shot of this would set them right."

"I don't like shots!" Peter suddenly blurted. He eyed the hypo distrustfully.

Kirk and McCoy glanced at each other. "That's okay," McCoy said gently. "They can be unpleasant business. What don't you like about them?"

"They hurt."

McCoy ran through possibilities in his head. He'd have to double-check Peter's file, but he figured an early experience with a blood transfusion, or something else invasive was probably responsible for this. McCoy quickly switched out the liquids in the hypo.

"Well, this isn't a regular shot, Peter. In fact, it doesn't even break the skin. Captain, if I may?"

"Sure, Bones." Kirk rolled up his sleeve and presented his forearm. McCoy pressed the hypo to it as Peter watched.

"Voila!" he said. "Not a mark."

Kirk held his arm out to Peter, who traced over the spot McCoy had utilized. "It didn't hurt?" he asked his uncle.

"Not one bit. There's some pressure, but it kind of tickles, actually."

Peter glanced back at McCoy, who smiled encouragingly.

"How many do I have to take?"

"Just one," McCoy reassured. "Then you're good to go for the rest of your stay."

They watched as Peter turned the pros and cons over in his head some more before finally holding out his arm, biting his lip, and turning away.

Quickly, McCoy pressed the refilled hypo against his skin and delivered its contents. It was over in a few seconds.

"That's it?" Peter asked.

"That's it, all done," McCoy replied. He set his tools down. "I'll let Captain Kirk walk you to your quarters."

"Thanks, Bones," Kirk paused for a moment before following Peter out of Sickbay. "What exactly did you shoot me up with?" he murmured.

"Just saline, Jim." He winked. "And maybe a compound to help regulate that appetite of yours."

Kirk put a hand on his stomach. "You're awfully deft with that thing."

McCoy picked up the offending hypo and twirled it. "Have to be on a ship where nobody wants one. Thanks for helping out."

Kirk's smile softened. "Thanks for helping Peter."

McCoy returned it, though he knew full and well his work wasn't over yet. "You're welcome."


	7. Gear (Or Lack Thereof)

**A/N: Thank you, everyone, for those awesome reviews! I'm so glad y'all are enjoying this. Hopefully I can bat away lazy bouts more and more so that I can post more often (sorry for the delays). Please enjoy this next chapter!**

* * *

 **Gear (or lack thereof)**

"It doesn't take much," McCoy announced to the young group. "A rockslide, a fall, just about anything involving water… and injuries almost inevitably follow such events anyway." He held up is medkit. "This? This cannot be your lifeline. So for this training session I want you all to stack your kits up at the back of the room."

Kirk watched from the side as the new batch of medical cadets obeyed the doctor's orders. He knew McCoy put his staff through regular training, but he'd never had opportunity to sit in on one. It was a larger group than usual since they were transporting Academy cadets back to Earth from their time on Starbase 16. Dr. McCoy had realized it was 'lucky' that the trip just so happened to coincide with one of his sessions.

As they found their way back to their seats, McCoy resumed speaking. "Now that you've lost your medkit, you will encounter surviving crewmembers with an assortment of injuries. Plants differ from planet to planet, but there are certain absolutes found across M Class worlds. For example…"

McCoy ran through standard medicinal and herbal properties with accompanying pictures on a viewscreen. "Do not take any of this as a hard and fast rule," he cautioned. "There are always exceptions. If you do use any native flora to assist in your healing, make absolutely sure you've identified them correctly. Your patient won't like you very much if you used poison ivy as a bandage."

Some chuckles ran through the crowd.

McCoy went on to explain the bare bones basics. Kirk watched him demonstrate tourniquets with a variety of materials on hand, walk the cadets through how to create a proper splint, and how to circumvent infection on the fly. He covered considerations Kirk wouldn't have even thought to be worried about. The captain made a mental note to recommend all general personnel take McCoy's "stone knives and bearskins" lesson on basic medical skills. Come to think, make that a requirement.

The doctor ran through dealing with broken bones, lacerations, venom, painkillers and even old-fashioned CPR. Kirk was glad to see that most of the cadets actually seemed to be paying attention.

"Remember: these are all temporary measures. The goal in these circumstances is to keep the patient _alive_ until they can receive proper medical care. It's going to hurt, it's going to be messy, and it's going to be imperfect. The point is to just do the best you can with what you have. Sometimes it won't be enough. That's reality. But hopefully what you learned today will stretch your skills further so that you now know what you _can_ do should you ever find yourself in this unfortunate circumstance. I do not exaggerate when I say this is a matter of life and death. Dismissed."

Kirk waited until the brighter students were finished peppering McCoy with questions before sidling up to the doctor.

"You know, Bones, you should write a book about this stuff."

McCoy snorted. "Jim, I've got enough to do without adding that to the list."

"I'm serious," Kirk replied. "That was very informative. I may make your little sessions a requirement for all personnel before they're cleared to join landing parties. It's especially handy for people without medkits to lose in the first place."

McCoy inclined his head. "That's a good point. M'Benga and I will have to stagger, though. Just one of these things wears me out."

"That's why you should write it down," Kirk raised his eyebrows, trying to suppress a smile.

"Smartass."


	8. Hippocratic Oath

**A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you for the awesome reviews! Just a heads up, I'm going to jump around in time a bit throughout this fic, so it's not always going to be streamlined like when I had Kirk at a medical conference after McCoy threatened to drag him along in a previous chapter. Just so no one gets confused! This chapter takes place during the episode "Return to Tomorrow". I used direct quotes in here (un-italicized), but I don't own Star Trek!**

* * *

 **Hippocratic Oath**

Most non-medical personnel who knew of the Hippocratic Oath in the 23rd century could only about recite the 'do no harm' part. There were other concepts in there that certainly bore examination.

For McCoy, he found himself dwelling a lot on the part "above all else, I shall not play God". He knew, rather intimately, the consequences of crossing that particular line. Despite all his success as the _Enterprise's_ Chief Medical Officer, the death of his father still haunted him late into the night.

And so he took care to ensure that his staff knew where that line was and that they never, ever crossed it. For the most part, things ran smoothly.

Then there were instances like these where some _cough-_ uninvited- _cough guest_ came aboard and tried to muck with it. McCoy had not seen the true form of this particular _"guest"_ save for a faintly glowing sphere and the body of Dr. Ann Mulhall.

"I require your silence. Only you and I would know that Dr. Mulhall has not returned to her body." Then the clincher: "Isn't that worth your captain's life?"

He looked back at Jim- Jim's body, being kept alive by machines as his consciousness sparkled beside him. God forgive him, but he would do just about anything to get him back on his feet. What would the _Enterprise_ do without Captain Kirk? McCoy didn't follow other commanders nearly as well as he did Jim.

He… was tempted.

Thalassa stepped closer to him. "Doctor," she spoke. "We can _take_ what we wish."

 _That_ brought McCoy back to the reality of her words. Super-evolved beings his ass, they always wanted _something,_ they always let their superpowers go to their heads. He'd known from the beginning that Sargon and his trio were dangerous, whatever fanciful promises of technology and benevolence they spouted. He narrowed his eyes.

"Neither you, this ship, nor all your worlds have the power to stop us," she continued.

Still, super-beings on a power trip reminded him of how _small_ he was. How primitive and insignificant.

How humble and _human_.

"Neither Jim nor I can trade a body we don't own. It happens to belong to a young woman."

"Who you hardly know. Almost a stranger!"

That had been about what did him in earlier. He barely interacted with Ann Mulhall. It would have been… easy… to look the other way. But her point wasn't actually a point, just a reminder of why words like _I shall not play God_ existed.

"I will not peddle flesh," he said sternly. "I'm a physician."

God help him, he was. He was a doctor. It wasn't his place to restore Jim's life at the cost of Ann's. He didn't need two people keeping him up at night, pleading for him to correct irreparable mistakes.

He'd made his decision. He wasn't going to tolerate this megalomania any further. McCoy started to leave because he had to get out of that room, away from that shameful moment of temptation.

He didn't make it. Why did no one ever listen to his warnings about god-like beings? Sooner or later they wound up hurting somebody, and in this case it was him.

He kept it to himself as the mission concluded. Jim was restored, Spock unbelievably spared, and Ann was herself. No one else was badly hurt, cases of "poisoning" aside. McCoy gave them all a _healthy_ rant on why the dangers of possession alone were enough to make an idea bad, and reiterated _I told you so_ on a number of occasions.

Jim took it with an apologetic smile and a promise to be more wary next time _("there won't BE a next time, Jim!")_. Spock took it all silently, only raising an eyebrow at his choice of curses. He couldn't tell if Ann Mulhall understood the real reason behind his ranting or if she was painfully oblivious to Thalassa's offer.

McCoy took an oath. He had broken it once. He had vowed never do it a second time.


	9. Ignorance

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the long break. An internship, graduation, and move all conspired against me, and it's taken me a while to work up the energy to keep writing. Hopefully I'm going to back on a relatively regular schedule now, and so can post more often. This one's a bit short, but that's mostly because I like ending it where I did. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Ignorance**

"I'm sorry… you did what now?" McCoy was sincerely hoping that the ensign was joking.

The poor man shifted on the biobed. "I peed on my foot… on purpose."

"Uh-huh," McCoy looked down at the swollen foot that had taken on a variety of colors. As far as he could tell, this was not new. "And how long ago was this?"

"5 days? Maybe a week. It was when we stopped at Parsia IV for shore leave. Apparently the lake has jellyfish."

"Ensign," McCoy began as Nurse Chapel circled around them collecting the appropriate equipment. "You are aware that Parsia IV has no recorded contamination from life on Earth… no introduced species, especially."

"Yes, Doctor."

"So you knew that the jellyfish in the lake you swam in were not Terran jellyfish?"

"Well… yes, Doctor."

"And, as such, their stings would probably not respond to practices of human lore?"

"Well," the ensign shifted again. "It seemed like common sense at the time. And my foot did stop hurting."

Both of McCoy's eyebrows shot up but before he could say anything (or explode) Chapel thrust some antibiotics into his hand. "The draining system is all set up, Doctor."

"Thank you, Nurse." McCoy propped the ensign's foot up and examined the infection while Christine made herself scarce. "Well, your foot clearly had to start hurting again to get like this. When did you notice?"

"Maybe 2 or 3 days ago it started looking kinda bad."

"THREE DAYS?" McCoy exploded. "It started changing color DAYS ago? Ensign, do you know how easily infections spread? Do you know this could have gotten into your blood and poisoned your entire system? If we didn't have the equipment we have today do you know I'd be amputating your foot right now?!"

Outside the main ward, a small crowd drifted towards the accented shouting.

The ensign was quaking under McCoy's infamous diatribe when suddenly a lightbulb went off in his head. "Oh, is that why doctors were called 'Sawbones' and why Capt-"

"Shut up!" McCoy ordered. The infection was beginning to drain from the ensign's foot. "I'm not finished! Did you stop to think for one second that maybe _peeing_ on an alien jellyfish's sting wasn't the best idea either? That it probably made things _worse?_ That maybe that cure was an urban myth _for a reason_ and that you should have _immediately seen a doctor afterwards?_ Good Lord, did you at least wash it once you got back to the ship?" He hypoed the ensign with some of the antibiotics and began treating the old sting-wound once it was visible.

"Well yeah, I ran it under some water, and…"

"WITHOUT SOAP?!"


	10. Justice

**A/N: So far, still on track. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Justice**

He had asked Jim for an armed guard. The captain hadn't seen a need- no one from Ceretta was aboard the Enterprise, they would be making no stops between there and Starbase 18, and if and when Chancellor DeGlycin came to he was restrained in Sickbay and could be moved to the brig.

But McCoy wasn't as sure as Jim that it was that open and shut- it rarely was. The whole affair was too easy, too straightforward, as horrific as it was, but on the _Enterprise_ there was _always_ some kind of complication.

He took over Gamma shift and gave M'Benga the night off. Chapel would sic Jim and Spock on him for it in the morning, but he needed to stay in Sickbay. He felt it in his Bones… something was going to happen.

DeGlycin was in a private room so that most of the medical staff could give him a wide berth unless needed. McCoy check in on him throughout the night… still out cold, but recovering steadily. They had literally pulled him out of the hands of a lynch mob and McCoy always felt uneasy around the guy, even unconscious.

He circled around Sickbay and the labs once again, still feeling agitated. On his way back through the main ward, he frowned.

A stylus was out of place.

McCoy always had the habit of haphazardly setting down his PADDS and styluses on the nearest available surface, such that sharp, organized angles were rare to result. The stylus was now perfectly parallel to the table's edge, as if someone had bumped it and put it back.

He turned and headed straight for DeGlycin's room.

The sound of the door sliding open alerted the intruder to his presence. McCoy folded his arms and stepped inside.

"Lt. Marigold. He's not worth the effort."

The lieutenant clenched her fist around a hypo- and how did she get that, McCoy would have a word with his staff about securing inventory- and pressed her lips into a thin line.

"He must be stopped."

"He is. That's why we're extraditing him to Starbase 18."

She shook her head. "Not good enough. He has connections, he has credits, influence. This psychopath can charm his way out of anything, you just haven't seen it yet."

Personal history. Great. Maybe Marigold had a relative on Ceretta? Jim was so going to get an earful about this.

"I doubt even he could defend his crimes of Ceretta," McCoy said softly. "There's damning evidence and too many bodies."

Marigold shook her head. "Even life-long imprisonment is too great a risk. He could escape. He could bribe for parole. He needs to be stopped _permanently_." She inched closer to the biobed.

"I agree," McCoy said carefully. "But this isn't justice. He'll get what he's got coming on Starbase 18." He took a step forward. "You don't need to do this."

"Are you going to stop me?" she challenged.

"I'm a doctor, not a bodyguard," McCoy answered. "But right now he is my patient. I would _like_ to keep the number of murderers in the room to _one._ "

Marigold paused at that. She looked down at the chancellor, sleeping peacefully, and her face contorted. "I hate him," she whispered.

"That's fine," McCoy said. "But what are you going to do with that hate?"

He was tense, ready to spring at her, when she at last sighed and dropped the hypo. She rubbed her brow as McCoy stepped forward and guided her away from the biobed, swiping the hypo up as well.

"I think I hate being the bigger person," she muttered as they left the room.

"It certainly isn't easy," McCoy agreed. "I'm proud of you for doing the right thing."

"Yeah, well…" McCoy could still see the bitterness on her face. "Starbase 18 had better hit him with everything in the book."

 _Jim, a word of recommendation to you on behalf of what I told you would happen…_ "I'll see to it myself."


	11. Kidnapping

**A/N: This is the chapter that started me on the ABC idea, so I was pretty excited to write it. I hope y'all enjoy!**

* * *

 **Kidnapping**

In all honesty, as he was moved again, McCoy could practically _hear_ himself ranting (lecturing) about the issue.

 _"_ _There comes a time," he would address the Starfleet medical interns. "Where you will probably be captured."_

He almost chuckled to himself picturing the surprise that would ripple across all of their faces. He couldn't see anything else that could distract him from that image.

 _"_ _I'm talking about ship assignments, the danger that is present, and what it means for someone in your unique position. That is, someone who is licensed to practice medicine. Your skill as a doctor makes you valuable."_

He was jostled suddenly and his back hit something _hard_. "Did you just _drop me?_ " he blurted out on enraged instinct. His captors probably couldn't hear him, muffled as he was through the bag. He heard their clamor of voices before he was hoisted up again.

 _"_ _So an enemy may capture you and force you to heal them: in that case, you follow the oaths you took. If a life needs saving, you save it. Not only is that why we all chose to study medicine, but it will also help keep you alive longer until rescue comes."_

Though his rescuers were taking their sweet time. McCoy figured it'd been 3 or 4 days since he was plucked from his group to save the life of one of the insurgent leaders causing the trouble Starfleet was investigating. A bomb blast had taken out their own medic and forced them in a tight spot.

But the fella was coming along fine. McCoy had predicted a full recovery, as long as they kept up the antibiotic regiment he prescribed. While he sincerely hoped that this sudden change- being bagged and moved- meant they were returning him to his group, he doubted he was really that lucky.

He was dropped again- _why did they have to keep doing that_ \- when suddenly the bag opened. He blinked several times to adjust to the light. When the room came into focus he almost groaned.

It was a makeshift laboratory.

 _"_ _You could be captured to heal the enemy. You could be captured to work for the enemy, developing whatever poisons or remedies they want. And sometimes, you're captured for both reasons."_

"So Starfleet was right," he muttered, getting to his feet. "You _are_ developing a bio-weapon." He really didn't like the looks of some of those compounds.

The leader of this faction, whose life he just saved, hobbled towards him on a crutch. "We are not so cruel, Doctor, and we do not expect you to be, either. Our… method… is to foster dependency, but we have yet to succeed in developing the cure."

"Right," McCoy replied dryly. "And so you want me to make heads or tails of it. Tell me: who gets this cure? Your supporters only?"

"Would it not be better to save some lives than lose all of them?" The leader leaned on his crutch as McCoy crossed his arms. "In the event of an accidental containment breach, the cure could still be released to counteract the agent."

Damn. Guy had him there. This was such an unsterile environment with hardly any proper quarantine measures… even an accidentally dropped vial could shatter and release who-knew-what.

The leader stepped closer, misinterpreting his silence. "Or, if you need further incentive, we could inject you first."

"No need for that," McCoy said curtly. He walked towards the lab tables. "If you don't have sterile fields then I'm gonna need gloves."

They gave him some, and then locked him in the lab with a guard at all times. McCoy ignored him; he'd worked under guard before. The threat of their bio-weapon _was_ real, and McCoy was in a position to take it down. Something about its creation seemed… obviously makeshift.

It was a day later when he found a compound that destabilized the weapon, breaking it up into its individually harmless components. Jim and the others still had not appeared. Time was crunching.

 _"_ _The real danger comes when you are perceived as no longer useful. Remember, you were captured to heal someone or work for them. Once your patient has healed, or died, or your work is complete, then why should your captors keep you around?"_

"Well, Doctor?"

"I've made a breakthrough," McCoy explained. He held up his cure. "This destabilizes the bio-compound relatively easily, however it regroups in about 16 hours." There was no way this guy would actually stay for 16 hours to see if he was right or not. "Right now I'm working on figuring out how to keep it separated for good. Cure's no good if it's temporary."

The leader nodded. "It's still farther than our last scientist got. Clearly we picked well."

McCoy bristled but held his tongue. The leader just needed to buy that he needed more time, that he was still useful and not done yet.

 _"_ _When it gets to that point, then it's your cue to leave."_

It worked. McCoy was almost suspicious of how easily the guy trusted him, but, he did save his life despite technically being an enemy. He quickly got busy creating more compounds of the cure and shoved two vials in his pockets.

His guard was short, but stocky. McCoy's fingers were really itching for a hypo full of a sedative, but you make do with what you've got.

He sat down on a stool and started to wheeze.

"What's wrong?" his guard said sharply.

McCoy put a hand on his chest and tried to tug his shirt away from his throat. He made a choking sound.

"Doctor?" There was an edge of fear in the guard's voice… maybe he thought the bio-weapon was released.

McCoy tried to point a shaking finger at an open-top Erlenmeyer's flask. "Cl…co-ver…" He started to sway off the stool.

The guard crossed over and kept him from falling. Propping him up, he stepped towards the table to find something to put on top of the flask.

With the guard's back to him, McCoy sprang into action.

In all honesty, he hadn't given a second thought to a self-defense class he took years ago when he joined Starfleet. It wasn't until after his cordrazine incident when he was told he had taken out Lt. Kyle with some kind of karate/judo chop that he remembered he had even learned how to do that once upon a time. It's amazing how the brain stores knowledge.

And so, having brushed up on his technique, he dealt two quick blows to the guard's back then quickly scooped him up and rested him on the floor. McCoy checked both of his eyes, but they were rolled into the back of his head. He was out.

Grabbing the slimmest stylus from his instruments, he approached the door. Another almost-lost skill from his childhood: confronting locks.* It took him longer than he liked, but the guard thankfully remained unconscious. McCoy heard the click, turned the handle, and slipped out the door.

He wasn't sure if it was a warehouse or a full compound, but it was big, empty-looking, and patrols of insurgents seemed to be scarce. It was also dark… his sense of time was all off, apparently.

Luck was on his side for once- a broken window led him to ducking outside faster than finding the true entrance. He dashed out into the city and started running.

He had no idea where he was, but buildings across every planet eventually have similarities. He almost started laughing when he stumbled across a hospital. A hospital! Bright, busy, and with modern communications.

 _"_ _Bones!"_ Jim practically shouted in his ear. _"Where are you? Are you alright?"_

"I'm in a hospital somewhere on-"

 _"_ _You're in a HOSPITAL?!_ "

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I'm a _doctor_ , Jim, it's a natural habitat. I'm okay, but we need to hurry. The insurgents might up their timetable on that bio-weapon now that I'm gone. I've got samples of the cure with me; I've already given one to the doctors here so they can start making more."

 _"_ _Cure? Insurgents? Bio-weap- okay, Bones, we're on our way to your location. Just sit tight!"_

"Hell no. I'll be in the same hospital, but I've got to go assist those doctors. See you when you get here."

* * *

 ***Extrapolated from "Wolf in the Fold". Kirk sends McCoy to go determine if a lock has been picked. McCoy replies that it's too close to tell... which means he has an eye for it. Is he a doctor or a lock-picker?**


	12. Loopy

**A/N: Had two different ideas with this and decided to combine them for a more well-rounded experience. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Loopy**

"Doctair, haf you ever vondered vhat happens to the passengers vhen you lose a train of thought?"

McCoy raised both his eyebrows as he looked at his patient. "No, Mr. Chekov, I have not."

Chekov seemed mildly perplexed by this as he stared at the ceiling. "Are they dead or should I declair them missing?"

"Probably just missing," McCoy replied smoothly. "After all, the train is simply lost, so it has to be somewhere, right?"

The navigator nodded slowly. "You are wery smart, Doctair."

"Thank you."

McCoy finished logging the latest vitals on Chekov's recovery. The bones in his leg were healing nicely and it was just a matter of waiting for all his pain medications to wear off. In the meantime, he often babbled. McCoy tried not to make his patients a source of amusement, but sometimes he couldn't help it. And other times, they were just a pain in the rear.

Speaking of which…

McCoy retreated into his office and fished around for the Pillow. Securing it, he walked into a private room to address his _other_ patient: Jim Kirk.

Jim was also awake and staring at the ceiling, moving his mouth slightly as if speaking to someone. His arms flopped off either side of the biobed. He lolled his head towards McCoy's direction when the doctor entered.

"Heyyy, Bones," he greeted tiredly. A giggle found its way out of his chest.

"Good to see awake, Captain," McCoy replied. He put the Pillow on Jim's chest. "Hold this."

Kirk's arms automatically latched around the pillow without complaint. "How d'you do that, anyhow?" he slurred.

"How do I do what, Jim?" McCoy asked, keeping his attention focused on the panel's readings. He made a few notes on his PADD.

"Make your eyes so blue?"

McCoy sighed heavily. This was why he hated giving Jim trimaplodelene, but nothing else worked as well for clearing an infection from the man's system.

"I'm not answering that, Jim."

Kirk whined and clutched the Pillow tighter. "But what's your secret?"

"It's no secret, and you'll figure it out in a coupla' hours." McCoy finished his notes and gave Kirk another once-over.

Jim met his eyes. "But I would like you to show me."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I'll check back in a bit, okay?" He left before Kirk could try another ploy.

Interestingly, as he walked back to the main ward, McCoy could hear another voice accompanying Chekov's. His whole countenance brightened when he recognized whose it was.

"…as such, 'down' is made irrelevant."

"But can you _prove_ it, Mistair Spock?"

McCoy stepped in just in time to catch the exasperated look that flitted across Spock's face. "Ensign, I have effectively just done so. Gravity is most apparent as localized events tied to sufficient mass, or mimicked through the properties of spin or artificial recreations. Because the _Enterprise_ , in this case, serves as its own generator of artificial gravity, _'down'_ only matters in regards to the events _within_ the ship, not the state of the ship itself." Spock finally seemed to notice McCoy, and his accompanying grin.

"Doctor. I came to inquire as to Ensign Chekov's and Captain Kirk's status," he said stiffly. "Though it appears the ensign is... still recovering."

"Doctair, how do ve know that the ship isn't flying upside-down?" Chekov queried anxiously.

"Because if it were, we'd all be walking on the ceiling," McCoy answered. The navigator seemed satisfied with that and nodded his head. Spock opened his mouth but McCoy beat him to it. "My office?"

The Vulcan followed without complaint.

"They're both going to make a full recovery," he reassured Spock once the door closed behind them. "I expect their current round of pain meds should wear off in another few hours before I discharge them to their quarters."

"Thank you, Doctor. Though, if I may ask, why is the Captain not in the main ward?"

McCoy exhaled heavily. "Because every time I have to give him the medication I did he gets a little… suggestive."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Suggestive, Doctor?"

"Look, everyone reacts differently, and he's not the only one for this brand. But he's loosened up enough to make passes at whoever's closest and can get a little handsy without his Pillow. Don't worry, he's got his Pillow," McCoy added.

"I was not aware that there was cause for 'worry'," Spock said carefully. "Would it be permissible for me to see him?"

McCoy snickered, but then regained his veneer of professionalism. "I try to keep visitors to a minimum, Spock. It can be pretty embarrassing to find out later that you tried to hit on everything that moved while you were doped up. And trying to talk to him would be about as productive as it is with Chekov."

Spock straightened at that. McCoy wondered how much of their conversation he had missed. "Very well. Alert me when both are discharged from Sickbay… and coherent."

He chuckled. "Sure, Spock."


	13. Mistakes

**A/N: I know, there has been another delay; this chapter was giving me a little bit of trouble. Plus, I've also started a full-time job so all my writing schedules have shifted to accommodate it. Should be back, though. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Mistakes**

"His breathing is still depressed," McCoy muttered. "Inaprovaline!"

It was a difficult surgery. His patient was very determined to crash on the table. Both McCoy and M'Benga plus a gaggle of nurses swarmed around the lieutenant in an almost choreographed dance.

A hypo hit McCoy's outstretched hand. He moved to inject but something caught his eye. The liquid didn't look quite… right.

"Nurse, this is _chloromydride_ , I said inaprovaline!"

Nurse Radner jumped and grabbed the hypo, hastily filling it with the correct drug. She handed it back to McCoy and shrank away.

They finished up the surgery and finally got the lieutenant stabilized. Everyone wearily trooped out as he was moved to post-op. McCoy hadn't even changed out of his surgical scrubs when he spotted Nurse Radner trying to slip by again.

"Nurse!" he called. She stopped in her tracks. McCoy softened his voice. "My office, for a moment?"

He thought about waiting until they were both freshened up and rested, but he didn't want to delay the conversation. The anxiety would make anybody squirm.

As soon as the door closed behind them she caved. "I'm sorry!" she blurted. "I thought it was the right hypo, I should've double-checked, I-"

McCoy held up his hand to stave off her apologies. "Everyone makes mistakes, Steph," he said.

She closed her eyes. "In our line of work even simple mistakes can be fatal."

"True..." McCoy gestured for her to sit on his couch while he poured them both a cup of water. It was less to quench thirst and more to use as a grounding device. He handed Radner her glass. "Did I ever tell you about the time I misdiagnosed a pregnant Selurvian?"

"No," she said meekly.

"I thought it was a parasite," he explained. "Selurvians reproduce asexually but I hadn't realized that they still experienced a form of gestation. I prescribed an aggressive antibiotic before I realized my mistake."

Nurse Radner looked horrified. "Did…?"

"Thankfully, no," he answered. "Another doctor realized what had happened and we rushed them into ICU just in time. Had to pump their system like crazy but both parent and child survived." He drank some of his water. "Though you can be sure I never made _that_ mistake again."

"I bet…" she agreed. She looked down into her cup.

"My point," McCoy said gently. "Is that we all make mistakes, Stephanie. Yes, you're right that for us even minor mistakes can be deadly, but the best we can do is _minimize_ them. It doesn't mean we won't ever make mistakes, or stop making them, but we can try to keep their numbers down. We're only human, and oftentimes the best lessons we learn come from mistakes. Just like with my Selurvian, I take it you'll be extra conscious of which hypos are which going forward?"

"Oh, absolutely!" she nodded vigorously. "I think I'd die if I ever let something like that happen again!"

"Then this is a best-case outcome," McCoy concluded, satisfied. "No one was hurt, and it's less likely to happen in the future. You're doing good, Steph."

She finished her water and gave him a tight smile. "Thank you, Doctor."

McCoy stood up. "I know what it's like. Don't let this eat you up, but instead inform you for next time – I'll need you again in the operating room before you know it."

Radner finally chuckled. "Not that we _want_ people ending up there."

McCoy grinned. "True, but on this ship? They can't seem to stay away!"


	14. Nerves of Steel

**A/N: Hello again, folks! There's a bit of a squick factor in this one, though I did my best to mostly circumvent it. Part of it is partially inspired by something my dad witnessed at his job which was both sickening and amazing. As such, first responders of all kinds need to have:**

* * *

 **Nerves of Steel**

Scotty flipped open his communicator. "Scott t'Dr. McCoy."

After a moment came a gravelly crackle: _"McCoy, here."_

"I've got th'backup generatair ye requested. Waitin' outside t'be let in."

 _"_ _Alright, Scotty, give me a moment_."

Scotty was mildly surprised to see the doctor himself open the vault-like door to the hospital. He understood they had been pretty swamped receiving casualties from the Arxicthor bombings, which were technically still underway. Before Scott beamed down the _Enterprise_ had picked up another explosion, but he didn't know the details. It made him nervous.

Fortunately, the hospital Dr. McCoy and other members of the ship's medical staff was an absolute fortress, left over from the planet's years of intense warfare. No one could beam in or out, thick walls protected the inside from any blasts, and special key codes were required if someone inside didn't let you in.

"We're in a bit of lull, at the moment," McCoy explained as they started walking down a long hall. He looked tired, but not yet falling-over-exhausted. "So your timing is perfect. We need it set up in the East Wing, Sector H."

"Roger that. Would ye like me to repair the old one while I'm at it?"

McCoy blinked. "The generator's not _broken_ , but we have more patients than this place was designed to hold. It's been draining on all the hospital's resources to run this many extra biobeds and all the equipment hooked up to the people on them. Sector H seems to have it the worst, though."

Scotty nodded. "Well, maybe I ken look around an' see what ken be done t'stretch your power further while I'm here."

McCoy smiled wanly at him. "That'd be fantastic."

Before Scott could reply a loud clanging broke out throughout the hospital. He flinched, startled, and likened the noise to a sort of klaxon. McCoy tensed beside him. "We have incoming wounded."

He started off in a different direction than they had been headed. Scott ran up to him, the generator bonking against his legs. "Doctair, where is-?"

"We'll be headed there with this wave, so just follow me," McCoy instructed. Scott did as he was told.

It seemed to him to be an underground ambulance bay. Stretchers were unloaded as doctors, nurses, and paramedics swarmed around the latest batch of wounded. Scotty hovered around the edge of the commotion, trying to keep an eye on Dr. McCoy. He thought he heard a horrible, wet, choking sound, and tried not to see what was causing it. Why did he think he could smell iron all of a sudden?

"Okay, go! Go! Go!" McCoy's team detached from the chaos with an anti-grav gurney and barreled straight at him. "Scotty!" he shouted, and Scott instantly leapt to follow them.

He caught sight of what was on the gurney and nearly threw up.

McCoy hopped up on a little stand attached the bottom as did a nurse on the other side of the patient. Everyone else kept rushing the gurney and reading tasks as they ran, but those two at least got to have their feet planted. Scotty watched as he jogged with them, horrified, but morbidly fascinated.

McCoy hadn't stopped snapping out orders and moving his hands in an ever-exchange of tools and the nurses never stopped relaying tricorder readings. Scott didn't understand why McCoy was focused on the man's side when _clearly_ his legs… or whatever was left of them… were the biggest-

"Cordrazine and permaseal," McCoy said calmly.

It was a different tone than the doctor had been using. It confused Scott, but McCoy seemed almost in a zen-like state. As they entered a room and the gurney turned, he suddenly saw why. His stomach lurched again as he glimpsed through the patient's side where McCoy was massaging his heart to a specific rhythm.

Scott didn't register much after that. He was pretty sure he was locked in place as other patients with their own teams also filtered by him. He thought it was very warm.

"Are you Scott?"

He wasn't sure how many times he was asked that until he shook out of his daze. A young nurse looked at him, concerned. "Are you alright, sir?" he asked again.

"What d'ye want, laddie?" Scott managed to exhale.

"I was told to show you where to set up the backup generator."

That's right. He was still holding it in his clammy hands. As he looked around, _not_ at the surgeries, he realized they were in Sector H.

"Lead th'way, laddie," he breathed, relief and thankfulness washing over him as the nurse led him out of the room. He was grateful, yet again, for his chosen field of machines. He would stomach broken-down mechanics any day over triage with sights like that. McCoy could take care of the broken-down people – and Scott made a mental note to never again trivialize that task.


	15. Orders

**A/N: Happy New Year! This chapter's shorter than most because I had such a struggle hammering it out. I drew a blank on what kind of scenario would foster this one, though I kinda knew what I wanted to have happen. But, to get over this hurdle here it is anyway. Happy 2019!**

* * *

 **Orders**

"Captain-"

"Bones, don't you dare."

"But Jim-!"

"That's an order, _Doctor_."

McCoy's mouth clicked shut and he clenched his jaw so hard he could feel his jaw ache. Kirk glared at him in warning, teeth also grit, but due to pain instead of anger.

The Tsh'lake warriors around them watched the exchange with keen interest.

They reminded McCoy a lot of the Capellans. Big, war-like, and had the same beliefs about how only the strong should survive. They had been briefed that when on-planet it was imperative they not show any weakness, or they would not be taken seriously – or at worst, killed.

And so when one of the warriors, laughing, accidentally sent Jim tumbling into a thick briar patch, neither of them were supposed to treat it.

McCoy fumed. He had dealt with these types of ideologies before and typically did alright. And sure, Jim had ordered him to _do_ things before, such as apply kironide, and inject certain things (the most radical order being transforming Jim into a Romulan) but he'd never ordered McCoy _not_ do something before.

To _not_ be a doctor.

Jim turned back to their companions and put on a pain-filled smile. "That was quite a clap on the back, Cha'rasel," he quipped.

The warriors laughed, and the tension was broken. They continued on, with Kirk wincing at every step. McCoy's frown deepened as the small pinpricks of blood darkened on his shirt. For all they knew those thorns were poisonous.

Oh well. If you can't break something, bend it.

McCoy tipped one of his few hyposprays into his canteen and handed it to Jim. "Here," he said, with as much disgust as he could muster. "At least rinse that blood off ya; you know I can't stand soiled uniforms."

"I'm fine, Bones," Kirk warned him.

"Consider it an order, then," he replied in kind.

Kirk glanced at him, then finally caught on. He tugged off his shirt and started pouring McCoy's water, now spiked with an antiseptic, over his cuts.

One of the warriors prodded McCoy. "You can give him orders, as well?" he asked curiously.

"Only when he does something I don't like," McCoy answered, avoiding the words 'medical authority'. "I can't abide blood-stained clothes; you well know they're a pain to clean."

The warriors laughed again. "It is not much farther to the river, we may all wash and refill our cups there," they said bemusedly.

"Glad to hear that," he replied earnestly as Kirk returned his empty canteen.

"Thanks, Bones," he murmured.

"Just doing my job, Captain."


	16. Psychology

**A/N: I had a few ideas for this chapter bumping around in my brain when my mother mentioned that the reasons airports switch from tile to carpet at the terminal/gates are purely psychological...**

* * *

 **Psychology**

"Sulu, I need something non-poisonous, non-toxic, non-pollinating, non- _man-eating_ and non-transitory. And I'd like it to be tall."

Sulu's eyes bugged in surprise. "Any other criteria, Doctor?"

McCoy considered for a moment. "And quiet. I know you've got a Banshee Bark hiding in hydroponics."

Sulu crossed his arms and ran ideas through his mind. "You might be better off with a fake," he said honestly.

The doctor sighed. "Is all that really too much?"

"It might help if I knew where it was going, because different plants need different environments; I'm not going to give Mr. Spock, for example, an Andorian glass-fern to keep in his quarters. Maybe a cactus."

McCoy grinned at the image, his mood picking up. "Fair point. It's going in Sickbay."

"Sickbay?" He furrowed his brow. "Forgive me for asking, but, _why?_ "

The doctor shifted. "It needs some greenery. Just in the main ward."

Sulu stared at him, not quite daring to speak what was on his mind.

"Fine. It's Feng Shui," McCoy admitted heatedly, metaphorical feathers ruffled. "Why do you think I have the lights able to dim in different colors, or the noise of the klaxon removed? Sickbay's for healing patients and folks coming in because they're ill, injured, or in need of an injection. I need to keep everyone that walks through those doors _calm_."

The light went on in Sulu's head. "Ohhh, why didn't you just say so?"

McCoy glanced around. "I'm a doctor, not an interior decorator," he whispered. "Chapel's been vetoing a lot of my ideas. My collection of unique skulls? Has to be hidden in my office. A display of antique medical instruments? Too frightening, has to be taken down." He rubbed his throat. "And too accessible," he added as an afterthought.

"But we need _something_ and I'm about out of ideas."

Sulu considered. "Let me see where exactly we could put up something, and I'll get back to you."

* * *

"Bones, I received a requisition form about bolting something in Sickbay?"

"Yes, Captain."

"What exactly is it?"

"Bamboo, sir."

"You're bolting bamboo to the floor?"

"No, we're bolting a pot to the floor. Bamboo is in the pot."

"Why?"

"Because the only other option Sulu could come up with that fit most of my standards was the Banshee Bark."

"I don't mean why bamboo, I mean why… bamboo… in Sickbay?"

"It's good for the psyche."

"Seriously?"

"Need I remind you who the doctor is, here?"

…"Your bamboo is approved."


	17. Quarantine

**A/N: Hi, folks. Sorry for the delay. It was harder to pick back up after interruptions than I realized. Please enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Quarantine**

While McCoy didn't entirely remember the first two days, he definitely remembered the next 5.

It was just his luck that the Icthyrian he helped treat when they were stopped at Starbase 11 was a carrier for _Heuretta endolosis_. The fortunate thing was they caught it in a sterile field as soon as he was back on the _Enterprise_. The rest of the Starbase's staff that treated the Icthyrian were alerted, and McCoy promptly entered into quarantine.

 _Heuretta endolosis_ , while not fatal, was extremely contagious among humans, and mutated easily in Vulcans.

The symptoms struck rather quickly and McCoy spent most of the first two days sleeping like a rock. His staff, in protected gear, kept tabs on him and would leave food and plenty of water for the bouts when he was up. He found a note informing him that he looked far less grouchy when he was asleep.

When the lethargy abated, he got antsy.

"Push-ups, Bones?"

Jim Kirk peered at him through the window of the sealed door. He looked both amused and confused.

"Beats pacing," McCoy grunted, doing one more. "This room's too small for that."

"So I noticed. Won't we be in a pickle if several crewmembers need to be contained?"

The doctor got to his feet, shaking his head. "All of Sickbay and each of the science labs have quarantine seals activated by voice command. And if we need to expand that we have portable sterile force fields to rig something up. But, since it's just me for now, here I am."

Kirk nodded. "For how much longer?"

McCoy narrowed his eyes. "My sentiments exactly."

That was Day 3. The contagious period was known to last 3-4 days after symptoms abated.

By Day 4 McCoy had resorted to pacing the isolated room.

Jim tried to play games through the door with him when he was off-duty, but that still left very little for Leonard to do when he was on the Bridge. Chapel got him some PADDs to read. He caught up on his paperwork in record time.

Then Day 4 ended.

"Any time much longer like this and I'll end up talking to myself," McCoy muttered.

"Doctor, who were you speaking too?"

McCoy whirled around and brightened. "Spock! I am so delighted that you've stopped by!"

To those versed in reading Vulcan microexpressions, Spock looked vaguely nauseous at McCoy's uncharacteristically upbeat greeting. Such reactions just didn't happen.

"I came to check in on your continued recovery."

McCoy grinned. "Awfully sweet of you, Mr. Spock. Though it wasn't a bad case at all… reason I'm in here is to keep this li'l bug from hoppin' to _you_ and _then_ turnin' into something nastier." He paused for a moment, then gave the first officer a sly look. "So I suppose you could say you're the reason I'm stuck here."

"I see." That classic eyebrow rose up. "I was under the assumption that your own relaxed medical standards led you to becoming contaminated."

"Now, see here you-"

Day 5 wasn't so bad.

Day 6 must have been unusually busy for the ship, because hardly anyone stopped by. McCoy flopped on the biobed and stared at the ceiling. He really wanted a change of clothes. He really wanted a shower.

He _really_ really wanted to know what was going on. The lack of any news or even gossip was starting to get to him.

"Y'all better not be gettin' in any trouble out there!" he hollered.

Day 7 left him irritable.

"Listen, Nurse, I'm past the standard period, now let me out!"

"Can't do that, Doctor," Chapel said sweetly. "Considering the reports from Starbase 11's own quarantine, the general recommendation is at least another day to be on the safe side. And since we have a couple different species this thing can cross-mutate in, that makes the recommendation required for us."

McCoy sighed dramatically. "I knew I would die alone, I just didn't imagine it would be at the hands of my friends!"

"Oh, please," Chapel laughed at him. "This is a mutiny, plain and simple."

Finally, on the morning of the 8th day, a solid week since entering the quarantine, McCoy stepped out of isolation a free man.

"I'm missing time," he expounded as Jim met him in Sickbay's main ward. "Can I even rejoin the real world? Do we still use tricorders and protoplasers? Jim, fill me in, what have I missed?"

Jim smirked. "We've been recalled to Starbase 11. A missed strain of _Heuretta endolosis_ mutated and is wreaking havoc on their station. They have requested medical aid."

McCoy stopped and closed his eyes. "Let me get my shower, first."


	18. Religion

**A/N: Hey all, I'm not dead! Apparently I've delayed long enough that people are checking up on me. My apologies. (Hi, adoptive Grandmother! I'm doing well!) Despite the wait for this chapter, I'm afraid there's going to be another wait before the next one. I'm starting a new job in a different state, so I'll be busy moving, etc. for the next couple weeks. Here's hoping a double feature for this chapter helps soothe any ruffled feathers out there. Thank you for bearing with me!**

* * *

 **Religion (two separate parts)**

"I hope to God I don't have to make a speech or something," McCoy grumbled.

Kirk shot him a half-bewildered, half-indignant look. "Out of all of us on this mission, Bones, _you're_ complaining?"

Normally, the doctor acting curmudgeonly was par of course, and to be expected. However, the civilization of the Nectarin Province on Cescarix IV had a slightly different structure than most they encountered. Healing arts and medicine folks were revered through a combination of religious beliefs and cultural behaviors, resulting in a mostly peaceful, albeit rather defenseless, population. The _Enterprise_ was called in when a neighboring nation decided to attack the province for its dilithium mines, and quickly swept towards the capital itself.

Upon introducing themselves to the government, Kirk and his duties were seen as a necessary evil, but McCoy and his team, well, Kirk was pretty sure the officials stopped listening past 'Chief' and 'Medical Officer'.

"It is the greatest responsibility and the greatest honor," the Prime Director spoke somehow both sagely and excitedly. "Come, we will help you with everything you need."

So as Kirk and Spock finished up dealing with insurgent forces of a long, only half-diplomatic campaign, McCoy and any nurses or orderlies who beamed down with him were treated as royalty. They stayed busy, naturally, with wounded civilians and sudden soldiers alike, but the amount of resources, volunteers, and time available for medical aid were staggeringly excessive.

"Jim, I swear, I've never seen as many doctors per capita even at lectures," McCoy had commented. "I've actually got enough help to establish a rotating sleep schedule!"

"And follow it?" Kirk questioned.

"Believe it or not, yes."

Now that the danger was over, and with treaties signed to ensure such a resource-grab would never happen again, the time for celebration was setting in. Kirk swiftly found out that the entire medical staff of the _Enterprise_ was invited for the occasion. Obviously unable to accommodate the request, only McCoy, M'Benga, Chapel, and a handful of other personnel beamed down. After all, someone had to stay behind in case of trouble on the ship.

McCoy scratched at his neck, fiddling with the dress uniform's collar. "I know, Jim, but it gets a little creepy after a while," he admitted. He caught Kirk's look and scowled. "Okay, 'creepy' might be putting it a bit strongly, but I'm not exactly used to this much…" he waved his hand around vaguely. " _Adoration_."

"You're skilled doctor, Doctor, you've dealt with praise before."

"Yeah, but from an entire city?" He finally stopped messing with his collar. "I'm just doing my job."

"Which is a divine gift _and_ calling, from what I hear." Kirk looked over the streamers decorating the banquet hall as they entered it. He looked over at McCoy, who had paused to take in the scene for a moment.

"Well, it's not for everyone," he said quietly. "But I still don't want to make a speech. I'm a doctor, not an orator."

"I have a feeling they're well aware of that."

* * *

"Jim, we have a problem."

The grave look on McCoy's face told Kirk almost all he needed to know. Spock stood next to the CMO, hands clasped tightly behind his back. He seemed quite rigid, but Kirk could read his eyes and tell that his first officer was incensed by something.

Which was odd. Normally, McCoy was fire where Spock was ice when it came to injustice. And Kirk knew it would be only a matter of time before they found it on Maslos. The two acting opposite of each other raised hairs on the back of his neck.

"What is it?" he asked.

"There is more to the Pasa'loven ideology than we originally surmised," Spock answered evenly. McCoy's fists tightened.

More than the endurance rituals? More than the brutal rites of passage that left a third of the youth dead? More than the absolute shunning of any form of assistance?

Kirk didn't want to know, yet he knew he had to listen. "And that is?"

"They practice infanticide."

It was like a punch in the gut. Truthfully, Kirk wasn't sure how McCoy managed to get the word out. He let out a long, slow breath.

"I understand the… horror… of the situation… but this is a non-Federation planet, and their way of life is sacrosanct. We must-"

"Jim, that's not the problem."

It threw him for a loop. "What?"

McCoy grimaced. "Well it is, obviously, but that's… it's another thing to add to the list of why _I'm_ never coming back, but it's more complicated. They've got an outbreak of what looks like a form of the measles, and it's spread all over the newborns. However, the parents think that it's something related to the child, and thus are leaving them out on the hillsides in droves!"

Kirk's mind spun. "Let me get this straight. A small epidemic is on their hands?"

McCoy nodded. "And they're treating it like genetic disorders, or any of the other qualifiers for, you know." He made a face. "The toddlers pull through, but not the infants. They're wiping out their whole next generation under a false presumption."

Kirk dragged a hand across his mouth. "That _is_ … troubling."

The two men nodded, then McCoy took a deep breath. "I can fix it."

His eyes snapped back to the doctor, and suddenly he realized why Spock was incensed. The Maslosites condemned the ones who offered any form of assistance just as harshly, if not more, than anyone who accepted it. He had been wary about beaming down McCoy, but the man insisted that in this type of society something was likely to happen to the landing party that would require a doctor, if a secret one.

"You'll do no such thing," Kirk stated, even as the words tasted vile in his mouth. "That's an order."

"Jim, no one would know," McCoy pressed. "I'd give the toddlers an oral vaccine. Hand it out like candy. I know I can't- I'm not looking to actually treat the babies," he looked pained as he spoke. "But to build up a bit of herd immunity. It may prevent anyone new from getting sick."

Kirk glanced at Spock, who was looking darkly at McCoy. "There's more, isn't there?"

"There is also the young mothers," Spock mentioned.

McCoy cringed. "I'd prefer to vaccinate the mom-to-be's with a hypo than the oral tablet… it's more effective that way. I figure I can tell the pregnant ones that, that it's a custom from where we come from to test if, if the baby can feel pain… no, not feel pain, but see how it would react to 'pain', like being poked… play it like a superstition turned cultural test… that way they could submit to being poked with a hypo and see if it foretells what kind of strong warrior their child will be…"

"When really you're practicing medicine." Kirk started pacing. "Doc- Bones, are you aware of what will happen if you get caught?"

"The punishment is death," Spock reminded him.

McCoy closed his eyes. "I know. But I can pull this off. We've been here for days, Jim, I think I've got a handle on what kind of story they'll accept for my actions. And I have to… I have to at least _try_."

Kirk considered. From a political perspective, it likely wouldn't affect much. The world was so… brutal… in its beliefs that he was planning on not recommending the Federation try to establish ties with the planet. It just wouldn't work out. But on a more personal level, the risk of what McCoy was planning seemed too great.

"Jim…"

Kirk sighed. He could no more change McCoy's nature than he could the planet's orbit around its sun. "Beam down the supplies you'll need," he said softly. "Spock, I want you nearby the entire time, in case anyone wises up. I'll keep the main warriors occupied."

A true smile finally graced McCoy as he placed a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Thank you, Captain."

Kirk clasped the hand for a moment and looked him in the eye. "Don't make me regret this."

Dear God, don't let him regret this.


	19. Secrets

**A/N: I'm alive! And if you would like to check in and make sure I'm alive more often than my posts, I have a tumblr, now. Hopefully I will be more consistent posting general things there. Check my profile for the link.**

 **Thanks to all who have been following and reviewing this story as it slowly progresses: yes, Guest, I only have one adoptive grandma and so I was addressing you! Thank you for everything :)**

 **This chapter takes place after Amok Time.**

* * *

 **Secrets**

"Well that was without a doubt the most apologetic diplomat we've ever encountered," McCoy quipped jovially as soon as he, Kirk, and Spock beamed back aboard the _Enterprise_. "How 'bout it? _We_ arrive late and he just fell over himself to make us right at home!"

"Our reputation precedes us, Bones, for once in our favor." Kirk led the way from the transporter room into the hall. "I can see now why Komack was so insistent that we show."

"President of Altair VI or #1 fan?" McCoy remarked. "Still, I suppose it wasn't worst inauguration I've ever attended. Or the weirdest."

"The crowning of Silastian Tutoor certainly made for an interesting occasion," Spock observed.

Kirk smiled at him. The first officer had been unusually reticent throughout the entire ceremony, and it was good to see him return to engaging in light conversation. The past several days had been… trying. "Indeed it did, Mr. Spock."

They entered the turbolift. "By the way, Spock, I'd like to talk with you in my office if you have a moment before we depart," McCoy said casually.

"Certainly, Doctor. I am available now."

Kirk shot McCoy a half-questioning, half-warning glance. McCoy just looked back at him. Whether or not Spock was aware of the undertone in McCoy's voice would remain to be seen.

The two in blue exited on Deck 5 and proceeded in silence to the doctor's office. Once inside, McCoy folded his arms and took a step back, meaning to be disarming. He raised his eyebrows. "Anything else I need to know?"

Spock faked blank. "In what regard, Doctor?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "A third eyelid? _Pon farr_? I'm doing my best with your physiology but I'm of no help if I'm constantly kept in the dark."

"Doctor, I myself was largely unaware of Vulcans' third eyelid, it was by no measure of deceit that-"

"Don't play coy, Spock," he snapped. "Not now."

Spock clammed up.

McCoy sighed and rubbed his brow. "Spock, you _are_ aware of doctor-patient confidentiality, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then you know I wouldn't go broadcasting your issues to the whole galaxy, right?"

"Of course not."

"Then why keep me in the dark about what was wrong with you?"

Spock was silent for a while. "It is a matter of Vulcan secrecy. We do not discuss it, even amongst ourselves, unless absolutely necessary."

"That's my point!" McCoy pointed at his computer terminal. "I couldn't find a single piece of literature on your case, not even in the Vulcan database! I didn't know if this was something totally unique to your physiology or not! And to find that it was a matter of life and death? This can't happen again, Spock."

When Spock spoke his voice was cold. "As I stated, it is a matter of Vulcan secrecy. We do not wish anyone, especially non-Vulcans, to learn of our greatest weakness."

"You're missing my point," McCoy shook his head. "I don't care about your planet-wide secret. I care when it affects _you_. And because I don't have any, I mean any texts on this, _that's_ when I doubly need you to be honest with me, because you're my only source of information."

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "Your curiosity would have been spared had we made it to Vulcan in time, before the situation became dire. My interest was in protecting my people, and doing so in a way that would have allowed-"

"But things didn't work out that way!" McCoy butted in, exasperated. "No secret is worth losing your life over."

Spock shook his head. "You do not understand-"

"Don't I?" McCoy stepped forward. "Why does one keep secrets, Spock? Even medically-relevant ones, which are highly logical to divulge. Why does a whole planet of people keep it even as those people spread out and interact and work with other species in situations where this would inevitably come up? That's not logic, that's emotion. That's shame and embarrassment, maybe walking in hand with pride and ego."

The Vulcan folded his arms and looked at McCoy for a long moment. He did not speak.

McCoy sighed. "I'm not trying to invade your privacy; I don't _want_ this to happen again. So we might as well be honest we each other: is there anything else that I, as your doctor, should know going forward?"

Spock took a long time considering. McCoy wanted to shake him, or shout, but did his best to hold back. Maybe not all of _pon farr_ had left him and he was having trouble thinking logically. Or maybe he was still stuck on McCoy's accusation that all of Vulcan was highly emotional and illogical by participating in keeping the secret. Or maybe the issue was-

"Or would you prefer a Vulcan doctor?" he blurted, well-meaning. "I've been looking for an AMO for months, so that's an option. You wouldn't have to trust anything that private with me, personally."

There was a flicker of… something… in Spock's eyes and McCoy's stomach clenched. "That is an option."

"Then it's settled," he said brusquely. "I'll send you my recommendations before I submit any requests." He bent abruptly to scatter and then straighten some data tapes on his desk. The back of his collar felt hot. Was the room warmer? Spock was still standing there, maybe he was still running a low fever. Obviously he would have to check his temperature and perform another post-farr physical. The more data the better with this. He turned back to Spock.

Spock had opened his mouth almost like he was going to say something. His eyes held the searching quality of one that didn't think a thought or intent had been conveyed correctly in a situation. It was like he was on the verge of correcting a mistake, or no, a misconception.

But Spock closed his mouth and simply nodded once. "Very well."

As he strode from the room, McCoy wondered if he had actually seen those emotions flit across Spock's passive face, or if he had simply projected his own onto a blank canvas.


	20. Tiredness

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, guys! This next chapter references events in 'Requiem for Methuselah'.**

* * *

 **Tiredness**

The average human adult needs 6-8 hours of sleep per 24 hours. Less than that over a prolonged period of time leads to lapses in judgment, delayed reaction time, and dangerous decisions.

In times of crisis, the chance for enough sleep went down. Ironically, it was also during these very times when everyone needed to be mentally and physiologically at the top of their game.

This was why it was important to establish sleep rotations, especially among the medical staff. It wouldn't do for a surgeon of all people to make the wrong cut because they were seeing double being so sleep-deprived. Sleep had to be more than a luxury.

Unfortunately, resources were in finite supply. When Rigelian Fever swept through the _Enterprise_ , you had fewer healthy people able to man their stations. You had fewer nurses and doctors able to relieve the working ones so they could get some rest. Numbers were never in your favor, not in the beginning. Too many affected, too soon, with not enough resources to combat the illness or boost the healthy and that was how outbreaks became epidemics.

When Nurse Radner showed up for shift only 3 hours after McCoy had last seen her, shivering under her layers and swaying with deep bags under her eyes, McCoy had gone to Kirk and made it a priority that the ship drop everything and find somewhere where they could get ryetalyn.

His staff was down to a skeleton crew and there were simply not enough of them for long, or enough, breaks. McCoy himself could feel the effects starting to drag on him, and that was even more dangerous.

Sleep-deprivation lowered your immune system's response. It made you more vulnerable to getting sick.

So he was short-tempered when they found some ryetalyn on a remote planet run by an old man and a young women. There was no need for hiding the processed element from them. There was no time for whatever games the guy was setting up between Rayna and Kirk. It was an unusual adventure, for sure, and a priceless home, but McCoy was itching to see that key element for their antidote, and was in no mood for tricks.

After achieving their goal (at long last) there was still more work to do. There was mixing and distributing the antidote, the tracking of progress for each person on the mend, monitoring any new patients for signs of fever, and watching out for – heaven forbid – any mutations.

He wished he could help Kirk process his emotional pain with how things turned out with Rayna, but the captain was physically healthy and McCoy had other patients. He left that task in the hands of _Spock_ of all people, he must have really been out of it, but they all had to work with what they had.

Then right when it was all wrapping up there was an Engineering accident which pooled the rest of their human resources into the life-saving surgery of a fried ensign.

So Kirk walked back into Sickbay, mind unusually clear, to check on how the antidote was proceeding right as an orderly wheeled the injured man into post-op. To Kirk's eyes, the orderly didn't look too well, and had a mask covering their nose and mouth. He narrowed his eyes. In what sense would McCoy have let a sick, albeit recovering, orderly that close to another vulnerable patient?

He crossed into the operating ward… and stopped.

Nurse Chapel was passed out on the biobed they had likely just finished cleaning and operating on. M'Benga was curled up in the corner like he had backed up, sat down, then slumped over. McCoy had made it to the computer terminal, then face-planted. Kirk walked over and saw a report half-dictated on screen, literally trailing off mid-sentence. He rested his hand on McCoy's arm. The doctor did not stir.

Auxiliary medical personnel, he concluded, even though the idea was still half-formed in his head. Trained officers from other departments to come help pick up the slack if they were ever hit like this again. He was sure McCoy had several thoughts on it they could discuss after he awakened.

"Mr. Spock," he paged softly from the other room. "Meet me in Sickbay… we have some friends to tuck in."


	21. Unusual Circumstances

**A/N: Still here. Been reading too much about Sigurd and Fafnir, apparently. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Unusual Circumstances**

If it's not one thing it's another, his mama always used to say. Certainly, she would have thrived in Starfleet. McCoy had never been kept so busy by so many bizarre… things.

Radiation-protecting, happy-drug-spouting spores. That was certainly interesting. The intoxicating effects of the water of Psi 2000. Certainly not anything he wanted to repeat, along with the blood-sucking cloud. Rapid aging – in any other circumstances, that would have been a (dare he say) _fascinating_ study.

"We push the boundaries of medicine and science alongside the boundaries of space every day," he quipped, mostly to himself. The rest of the landing party was otherwise occupied. Except Spock. Somehow it was always Spock and either himself or Kirk who were unaffected.

As it was, Kirk, Scotty, and a handful of their security and science personnel were all sprouting feathers whistling like birds.

"We push the boundaries of medicine and science alongside the boundaries of space every day," McCoy repeated, sinking to the ground. His tricorder clattered uselessly beside him as he put his hands on his face. "My God, Spock, we were only gone for 20 minutes!"

Spock observed the scene gravely, from the campsite with some kind of leathery animal roasting on a spit, to the various items used as utensils, to Mr. Scott's trailing plumage, and to Captain Kirk's warbling calls. He slowly set down their collection of edible roots.

"The animal must have wandered into camp while we were away," he deduced. "The captain would likely not have passed up such an opportunity."

McCoy moaned. "I tell them not to touch anything without scanning it first. I tell them not to _eat_ anything. I tell them 'half an hour, Spock and I'll be back with some promising roots the tricorders picked up.' Do they wait? Of course not!"

One of the security personnel was fussing with his uniform. He finally tugged off his shirt revealing bright red feathers blooming across his arms and back. He ran around, flapping them.

"We should attempt to corral them and summon the _Enterprise_ ," Spock suggested.

The doctor sighed dramatically. "It's a losing battle. I have to throw in the towel. I've never seen anything like this, _how could I-?_ " he gesticulated wildly. "Have seen anything like this? The captain's sprouting feathers!"

"I trust that-"

" _Feathers,_ Spock, _feathers!_ "

"Yes, Doctor, I can see that."

"And _of course_ it's got something to do with whatever lizard they ate," McCoy continued. "Were they starving? No!"

"Perhaps it attacked them, and they were forced to confront it," Spock pointed out.

"And the _logical_ thing to do was to eat it? With the two tricorders gone _promising_ to bring back food?" He growled and crossed his arms. "Damn right they _should_ be running around like chickens with their heads cut off."

Spock perhaps may have been alarmed by the imagery. He stiffened and resolutely continued studying the group.

"Damn _birds,_ " McCoy muttered. "Whistling, warbling, lizard-eating, impatient…"

Spock whistled.

The landing party's heads turned.

McCoy paled.

Spock whistled again and the flock stampeded.

"Jesus!" McCoy scrambled to his feet. In his rush he kicked the collection of roots Spock had set down and scattered them over the hillside. The bird-fellows dove at the greens and promptly began devouring them. It was a sight that no one needed to see.

And yet, as their bellies filled, the frantic chirping ceased. The strutting and confusion died down, and feathers drooped. As Spock and McCoy watched, gradually the feathers began to molt. Backs straightened and eyes cleared.

Kirk approached them. A feather was sticking out the back of his collar and a piece of root was caught between his teeth. He folded his arms behind his back.

"Gentlemen."

"Captain," they answered.

In the background, Scotty coughed up a piece of down.

"Your arrival was perfectly timed," Kirk continued, resolutely looking off to the side. "Thank you for bringing with you a solution. Now," he lowered his voice. "Do either of you happen to know what just occurred here?"

McCoy's mouth hung open. He tossed up his hands. "No. Don't ask me to write a report. In fact, don't ask me anything at all. Don't even make a comment. I'm done with this bamboozling tomfoolery."


	22. Vigilance

**A/N: I told myself I would have this chapter done before my mom came to visit and now that was 3 weeks ago. This one was a little tricky to get started, and the result is a slightly different 'feel' (more... philosophical? Ruminating? You tell me), but I kinda like it. Anyway, thank you for your patience and enjoy!**

* * *

 **Vigilance**

Any doctor would tell you that an ounce of prevention was worth ten times the cure. Dr. McCoy himself would readily agree. His job would be far easier if people (particularly ensigns in engineering and two certain people on the bridge) would make far less stupid decisions.

However, Dr. McCoy was sadly also a firm believer in the phrase 'you can't cure stupid', though no one was sure if his steadfast belief in this was a resignation to the truth after a lifetime of trying to prevent stupidity through excessive mother-henning, or simply part of his bedside manner.

What only the medical staff knew, however, was that the emergence of Mom FriendTM in the doctor happened far more often than the usual rants, and far more subtly. They knew this not only from working closely with McCoy, but because they did it, as well.

Even if it was an average day on the _Enterprise_ , nothing ever quite slowed down. McCoy would generally see the Gamma shift engineers finishing up in the mess hall as he prepared for Alpha shift, and would silently catalogue the various levels of fatigue in them. The circles under Lt. Villenueve's eyes were a lot darker than normal – but there was no sign of coughing or congestion so it was likely just lack of sleep. If they were still super dark tomorrow McCoy would approach him with the offer of a sleep aide, or perhaps engage a conversation to see if anything was going on that was upsetting the lieutenant.

Nurse Radner was always bouncy and cheery in the morning, but one morning she wasn't. She was still quite perky, but the usual bounce was gone. Halfway through the shift she didn't take a lunch. After sharing his observations privately with Chapel, his head nurse whisked Radner off for a chat and returned with a request for stronger birth control pills that didn't induce the mild nausea the lady had been feeling.

Jim was squinting on the bridge, and rubbing his head whenever he thought McCoy wasn't looking. As if McCoy didn't notice. Migraines were no fun and he well knew how susceptible the captain was to them. He wordlessly passed some headache pills to him when they took their lunch together.

Every crewman had their tells, and while some tells were the same for certain symptoms, everyone reacted more in line with their general beliefs on illness and injury. McCoy knew which crewmembers preferred to power through a case of sniffles, and which ones contacted Sickbay for every bruise. Maintaining this vigil on the health of the crew went further than the physical. McCoy kept an eye out for people who looked like they needed an encouraging word that day, and respected the privacy of others who preferred to not talk about 'it' and soldier on their own. There were sharers and not-talkers, criers and jokesters, complainers and optimists who all dealt with this thing called 'life' in their own unique ways as they sailed along in this silver ship.

And that was McCoy's business. Keeping a watch on life for when it needed him to act. He liked to think that meant something.


	23. Words

**A/N: I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, folks. My laptop went down in November and since then it's been a slow struggle to restore everything. I'm not done with this, yet!**

 **In other news... I'm officially looking for Beta readers for an original short story I've written. It's a sci-fi/fantasy coming of age tale about a girl who lives in a society where everyone can partially tell the future suddenly finding out the truth about their history. If you're interested in beta-ing, please PM me or let me know in the comments.**

 **In the meantime, enjoy!**

* * *

 **Words**

McCoy had all the latest medical marvels at his hands, but scanners scanned for what they were programmed to scan for, and if there was an unknown (and there always was, way out here in the black) then it would go totally unnoticed. Hence, part of the reason why he always preferred a personal touch.

However, there were times where even that failed him.

He knelt in front of the crying child in his sickbay. She was one of the many African colonists they had beamed up following a devastating earthquake. Amazingly, it had occurred while the _Enterprise_ was in orbit, and so they were able to respond immediately and rescue people from the small mountain town that was the worst hit. McCoy and his staff had been receiving people all morning.

But the little girl didn't seem to be accompanied by her parents. McCoy hadn't heard of any casualties (yet) and so hoped they were simply missing, separated in the beam outs. She was covered in dust, especially in her curly black hair, except for where her tears tracked dark lines down her pudgy cheeks.

McCoy pulled out his handheld and started scanning her. "Hi there," he said softly. "My name's McCoy. I know you're feeling really scared right now, but everything's going to be alright. What's your name?"

She just kept crying. Children did that when inconsolable, especially when they didn't even know what was going on. McCoy kept patiently scanning her and talking in a soothing voice. She looked to be about 4 years old. Her hands were on her stomach, but his scans weren't telling him if there was something wrong there.

"When my daughter, Joanna, was about your age thunder really scared her. She'd startle at the loud noises and was worried we'd been hit. So we'd sing a little song together." He sang the first few lines to _Rain, Rain, Go Away_ , ignoring the glances his surprised staff sent him.

The singing helped calm her a little bit. The sobs turned to sniffles and she was able to focus on him. McCoy smiled encouragingly. "You're a brave girl, aren't ya? Now, can you tell me if you're hurting anywhere? Anything in pain?"

She just sniffled some more. His scanner showed nothing, but his instincts said otherwise.

"Coming through, Doc!"

McCoy turned his head and saw a couple members from the landing party bringing someone in on a stretcher. Best not stay on the floor in the middle of everything. He scooped up the child – who immediately wailed – and quickly set her on a biobed.

"I'm sorry about that, pumpkin. Are you hurt? Can you point to me where it hurts?"

The little girl cried and babbled something in a language he didn't recognize.

McCoy blinked. All the adults he had treated spoke English. He looked around for a universal translator. There wasn't much he could do if he couldn't even understand his patient. "I'm sorry, sweetie, could you repeat that?"

"She wants her mom." He turned and saw Uhura walking over from where she had helped set down the patient in the stretcher. She looked tired, no doubt helping with the rescues. He was mildly surprised she wasn't coordinating beam-ups.

"What brings you by?"

She smiled tiredly at him. "It helps to have someone who speaks Swahili on hand working with shocked and confused victims. Everyone was taught English at school, but that's not what they speak at home. She said she wants her mom."

McCoy looked back at the child, then at Uhura, brightening. "Then please stick around and we can help her find her mother once this is all over."

Uhura smiled. "Certainly, Doctor."

"Darling, we'll find your mother, but right now I need you to let me know if you're hurting anywhere. Does your tummy hurt?"

Uhura stood next to him and translated. The little girl opened her eyes wide at her and said some words back. Calming, soothing, informative… McCoy was tempted to recruit Uhura for his staff during this crisis.

"Her belly does hurt."

"Alright, sweetie, then I really need to take a look at it. Can you move your arms for me, please? What's your name?"

Uhura chatted some more, distracting her while McCoy got his scanner closer and gingerly felt around with his hands. He frowned. Scans were still coming back in the green. That didn't make any sense…

Uhura suddenly put a hand to her mouth and giggled. He looked up at her sharply. She composed herself, but her eyes still sparkled. "Doctor," she began, relaxing in mirth. "Ayana says she was at a birthday party when the quake hit, and that she ate too many sweets."

The lightbulb went off. McCoy felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the info. "Well then," he said, relieved. "I know you've got a mighty tummyache which isn't very fun to have during a time like this, so I've got something that should help take care of that nausea real quick."

As he administered the hypospray, Uhura kept talking to distract Ayana from the shot. He touched her elbow when he was done.

" _Thank you,_ Lieutenant," he said sincerely. "If you see any more young children being brought in, I made need you to stick around."

"Sure thing, Doctor," she said. "Call if you need me. Right now, I'm going to help Ayana find her mom."


End file.
